"Spike?" she whispered. Her hand reached out, almost of its own volition. Just to touch him, just a little. His blue eyes, his non-demon eyes, so maybe he wouldn't bite, maybe he could see it was her, maybe. Her fingers curled to cup his jaw when they closed. Just like that. His eyes were closed and his head was turned away from her hand. Oh. OH.

Her hand fell to the covers. God, he must be feeling that elbow to the face. Maybe he hurt too much to touch. God, what if he... How was he to know she hadn't meant to hit him? For all he knew she was back in the saddle again, smacking him around for truth and justice. Or something.

She scooted back on the bed, far enough that nothing but his legs were in easy hitting range. Just so he'd know. "Spike..." His eyes were still closed, his body as slack as it had been before. "I don't know if you want... I mean, everyone else is asleep and you need..." His eyes were open again, a little wider this time. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. So it was better, then, better for him if she kept her distance. Take a deep breath, Buffy. Say real sentences. "I don't know if you can talk, but I don't know what you need."

His lips separated, dry and flaky, and without really meaning to she'd leaned forward to snatch her purse from the bedside table. She didn't miss the tension that seized his body, how he curled into himself as she moved. What if he was afraid of her, of being touched by her? Focus, Buffy. Practicalities. You didn't just scare him for nothing. She fished for the tube of Vaseline in her purse, avoiding his eyes. "Chapstick, Spike. You need it. Your mouth... You That has to hurt." No avoiding it now. She raised her eyes to meet his, sitting too straight to avoid flinching in case he recoiled again. "Can I put it on? If you can't... I know you don't want me to, but I'll be quick and your mouth won't hurt so bad."

His mouth opened again, then shut. His lips parted again, and this time a weird, croaky windy noise came out. "Okay. Not so much with the talking." Buffy bit her lip. Okay, so maybe chapstick wasn't exactly emergency treatment one. But his poor lips... If she could ask him somehow, keep from scaring him again... "Can I put this on?" It hurt him, you could see it hurt him, even something as small as the nod. His eyes were all slitty, jaw and shoulders tense. Oh, it hurt. Okay. So, he was mobile enough to latch onto her for survival, but that didn't mean it wasn't painful.

Buffy daubed a little Vaseline on her index finger and scooted forward, close enough to touch his face. His eyes fell shut as her hand neared him. Buffy tensed further. It hurt him, to have her touch him. Was it her, making him flinch? Would it be better to call Willow, maybe? Somebody else? God, but who else could he expect to be gentle with him? She would be gentle, she would, he'd see. If that was even it. If he hadn't seen something, changed something, if her touch creeped him out... Can't think like that, Buffy. Put on the damn chapstick. Just the chapstick, maybe some bandages.

His head lolled from the pressure of her finger on his mouth, and she reached out the other hand to steady his head. Gentle. See? She could do gentle. His eyes were open now, watching her as she smoothed the balm onto his shredded lips as delicately as she could. Watching her with an intensity she remembered, a lusty, sad, desperate sort of intensity. Like he had looked, always, just before she got up out of bed and smacked him.

All in her stupid mind. Lusty? Right. When he can't move much and shrinks away if you so much as sit close to him? Seeing things, what she wanted to see - is that what she would want to see from him? God, no wonder he didn't want her to touch him. But he wasn't flinching now, with her finger on his mouth. Would he flinch if she just moved her other hand to touch his hair, just a little, just gentle...

The door banged open and only Slayer coordination kept her from ruining it all, jarring his head again with a startled jump. Her head swung around to find Giles, disheveled, bleary-eyed, stake-wielding Giles. Or at least something that looked like Giles. Not exactly the night to trust anything with weapons. She turned back to face Spike, muscles coiled to spring in case she heard any movement behind her. Her fingers curled gently in brittle hair. "Gonna let you go now, okay? I didn't want to surprise you.”

She let her hand slip away, crawled backwards until she had space to slide off the bed without jarring him too much. She took a bracing breath and turned to face Giles. He did not look happy. In fact, he'd busted out the "I'm disappointed in you, young lady" face. Well, he could just bust it right back in. "Giles, hi. Can I help you? Because if not he needs..."

"What? More of your blood?" Kennedy. Stupid Kennedy, standing there behind Giles like a comic-book superhero, hands all balled into fists. Beside her, a miserable-looking Willow all hunched with apology. Well, good. Buffy sent her a cold glare; was she a bad person for being satisfied with the little lip-wibble she got in response?

"Kennedy. Why don't you come in? Oh, wait. Because I don't want you to."

Giles held out a hand. "Buffy..."

Take a deep breath, Buffy. They mean to help, they won't leave until they're sure everything is all right. "Come in. But try to be quiet, and better make this quick. He needs attention."

Giles glided farther into the room, coming to rest against the TV. "You could put the stake away," Buffy muttered.

"I'd rather not." His gaze rested on her neck pointedly.

It was stupid, but she still felt a bit like a naughty little kid when he turned that look on her. But she was right on this one, goddammit. "He needed help. Urgent help. After what he did this afternoon..." She paused to glare at Giles. You'd think that... But no, his mouth - hell, his whole face - was pursed with disapproval. "He deserved it, Giles."

Giles sighed, plucking his glasses from his face. "In case it has escaped your notice, you are surrounded by slayers with blood every bit as potent as yours." His eyes caught Buffy's and held them. "Circumstances being what they are, you would think you would be more careful with your strength."

"Oh, yeah, protect her strength," Kennedy muttered. Willow must have glared at her or something, because her tone went all defensive. "What? It's not like she's super-special anymore."

Buffy threw her a bored glare. "I can hear you, you know."

Kennedy glared right back. "Good."

She looked ready to say more. Well, too bad for her. "So, me deciding not to hassle all of you for the Undead Blood Bank? That's me deciding I'm all Chosen-er-Than-Thou?"

Willow rested a hand on Kennedy's elbow. "Buffy, we're not here to yell at you. It's just, you were all with the wobbliness when I left. I wasn't sure you would be safe, with..."

God, even after this, after all this, she couldn't even say his name. She couldn’t help it; her body was sliding into Slayer mode, asserting physical power. Like she was squaring off against them. But god, even after all of this, even after he'd... Because they must know - at least Kennedy must know - that they'd have been swallowed up, obliterated by the army, Slayers or no, without him. Still talking about him like it was... Like saving him was... But Giles hadn't seen it, and Willow hadn't seen it, but she had seen Buffy, dizzy and weak and... Deep breaths, Buffy. "He won't hurt me, guys." Giles aimed another pointed glare at her bandaged neck. "Not now that he's awake. Look, Willow, you saw him when you came in the first time. Could he have done this?"

She walked slowly toward the bed, up to the top where Spike rested, still propped against the headboard. She lowered herself to the bed, leaning close, very close, so that her head hovered right in front of his. Easy neck access. A bit of rustling. She fought the urge to tense herself up. He was turning away from her, not wanting to touch her, not wanting to have her so close. Even if it was what she'd meant to demonstrate, it still hurt in this stupid "he's only like half-conscious" way. Because he couldn't possibly... A lot had clearly happened to him, yeah, but he hadn't been gone for that long, not so long that they could erase... It wasn't two days ago he'd been telling her that holding her had been the happiest night of his life. He couldn't find it so awful to have her near. Could he?

Not now, not the time to think of this now. Not when three people were standing at the end of the bed staring at her. "See? Perfectly safe," she said, keeping her voice soft. Wouldn't want to startle him.

She slipped off the bed again, turned to look at Willow. "Listen, it was good of you to worry about me, but you can see I'm fine. I'm sure you guys want to get back to bed."

Kennedy looked ready to argue - and really, when wasn't she? Buffy nearly snickered when Willow squeezed Kennedy's arm hard enough to turn it white. "I'm just... We're just glad you're okay. So, um, goodnight."

Buffy managed to work up a smile that might at least past for soft. "Thanks, Will. Goodnight." She even nodded at Kennedy in a civil way. Because Willow, at least, really meant well, and just because Buffy was wound up... But, godammit, how was she supposed to be any other way, after this day? At least past Apocalypses had ended after the big battle. Too much, with that battle and then...

She took another steadying breath. Giles. Deal with Giles, maybe get Spike patched up a little bit, and then maybe she could finally put an end to this endless day.

Giles was watching her oddly. Sort of this half-curious, half-apprehensive, half-serious thing going on. And so what if that was too many halves. "I am trying to understand why you didn't call me."

"I just... You should have seen him, Giles. He was in bad shape. The worst possible shape." She swallowed hard. Her voice was too close to a whisper. You could hear the pain in it. Buck up, Buffy, or he'll worry, like, really worry. "I thought he was the First. Because, you know, that's how it had been earlier. Like Spike."

The hand on her shoulder was sinfully reassuring. When had Giles crossed the room, when had he got right next to her? She didn't dare lean into him, because he'd know how rattled she was by all this, and then he'd never leave her to take care of Spike, poor injured Spike who was probably stewing in pain as she spoke. Giles... God, what would he do if he thought she wasn't up to dealing with this thing with the First? What if he decided that she'd buckled under the stress, and took things, took Spike into his own hands? What if...what if Giles thought Spike was from the First, and set out to finish what he and Robin had started?

She took a deep breath and straightened up. "You can imagine how surprised I was to find him all solid. He looked... He needed blood."

"And so you..."

"He needed it, Giles. His chest... They'd carved him up worse than I've ever seen." She paused to let that sink in. "Seeing as how he'd saved the world not eight hours back, I thought..."

"Buffy," Giles said, his voice very tired, "I'm not questioning your decision to help him. I am merely asking you to think this through. If he showed up minutes after that First, wearing his form, I might add..."

"I know that, Giles, I do, but he needed help, and I thought we could research it..."

"It might not be that simple. Blood is very powerful, especially when dealing with darker forces. Voluntarily giving him your blood could have very grave implications."

She raised her chin defiantly, pulling out from under his hand so she could face him directly. "He couldn't wait, Giles, certainly not until we got to England somehow." She pushed a hand into her hair, blew out a long breath. "Not that we can do anything about it now. He's got it, Giles. He's had my blood. We'll get some sleep, and then go figure out what that means."

"I understand that you are very tired," he said, voice softer, more affectionate. "You are certainly due some rest."

"But?" There was always a 'but,' if she wanted to be left alone this badly.

"But, time is now a factor. We need to move quickly, now that your blood has entered into the equation." He held up a silencing hand. "I am not blaming you, Buffy. I am merely stating a bald fact. We have no time to waste."

"Which means..."

"Which means, we need transportation to England. I had intended to make commercial flight arrangements. Now that time is of the essence, and we have travelers with special needs," he said, nodding toward Spike, "we need to find someone who can accommodate us."

Buffy blew out a breath. God, she was bad at life. He must be worried. For all he knew, she was at the bottom of a pit with the rest of Sunnydale. What, she couldn't pick up the phone? "Angel."

"I thought you might prefer to call him."

She owed him that and more. Without that amulet... Her stomach seized up. Without it they would have lost. Without it, he wouldn't be here bleeding in her bed, but how could Angel have known it? "He deserves to hear this from me."

"Give me a call as soon as you have an idea about our travel plans." He smiled softly, turned to leave the room. He faltered almost immediately, turning back toward her. "I hope you know this, Buffy, but I couldn't be prouder."

He looked so unsure, so endearingly unsure, that she couldn't help but smile at him. "I know. Now, go to bed for real this time, huh?" His mouth lifted into a half-smile as he turned to go.

Buffy took a deep breath. Okay. Priorities. Angel… They needed the plane, but Spike had been sitting there, injured and untended. How long could it take to get him set up with whatever he needed?

"Hey, Spike. Sorry about the interruption." She kept her voice as soft as she could. "Now, do you need more blood?" He shook his head "no”. At least something was going right; he didn't wince, nothing like he had before. Still, he looked dry as a bone. Dry. "Um, maybe some water first?" His nod was lightning-fast and eager. Buffy wanted to smack herself in the head. Maybe vampires were like people, more water than not? She slid off the bed, careful not to jostle too much and bounce him. Were there any more glasses? No need for the jug now that he was more awake.

She sighed, picking up one of the glasses of orange juice she'd abandoned on the table and heading for the bathroom. It still felt like sacrilege to pour something perfectly usable down the sink, even if she knew things were different now and every little thing wasn't bringing her that much closer to bankruptcy. God, though, she couldn't face another drop of orange juice, and the thought of giving him half-bloody water from the stupid jug, like he was incapable... Better this way. Much better. She rinsed the glass, and turned it upright to fill it. Except, if he couldn't really raise his hand to apply the Vaseline... She turned the tap off. She'd do what she had to do.

She took a deep breath as she slipped into the living room. Slid up to the bed, looking right into those eyes. "Listen, Spike. I know you don't like me touching you, but it will be hard for you to drink otherwise. You're really hurt." It kind of unnerved her, staring at him like this while she talked. She never did that, just looked into his eyes for a really long time. Even like this, even all muddled with pain, they were so intense. Creepy, almost. "Can I... I'll have to sit beside you and help you drink. Is that okay?" A nod, almost without hesitation this time. She got around to the other side of the bed, climbing next to him with slow care. It wouldn't do to jostle him too much. She slid a careful arm behind his shoulders. Her fingers brushed his bicep. She paused; it felt more or less like a bicep. Less fragile, less scratchy. Good. Maybe he was getting better.

It was awkward to raise him upright without spilling the water she held in her other hand. She ended up half-kneeling, one arm holding him up and the other placing the cup gently at his lips. She tipped it a little and he drank greedily, faster even than he'd gulped down the blood. Of course, he was like half conscious then, but still.

He made short work of the liquid a dinky hotel cup could hold. She was going to have to get away, put him down. God, how nice it would be to just curl right into him and stay here, like this. Couldn't, not when he needed water. Not with how he'd been earlier. Even if... It had been a long time, but she used to read his body with such ease. He'd been tense before, a weakened vamp's version of the are-you-gonna-smack-me tense. She knew that one, but he wasn't that rigid, not anymore. Maybe he was just too worn out? "Gonna put you down, okay?" she murmured, waiting for his slow nod before lowering him gently until he was half-propped on the headboard. "I'll go get some more water."

She began a careful backward crawl out of the bed so as not to jar him. She couldn't help but stare at him. He didn't look so bad, anymore. Beat up, yeah, too skinny, but not...not like he had been.

She tore her eyes away. He was sitting there thirsty and all she could do was stare like an idiot. She slipped into the bathroom, reached for the tap. Her hand froze in the air. Was that a rustle? Definitely a rustle. She inched out of the bathroom, silent, hand sliding toward the stake she had secured in a belt loop just in case. One more step...

Nothing in the room but Spike. But, Spike! Spike was upright, sheet pushed down to the mangled knees of his jeans. Spike was sitting. She took a step forward, but she could see him tense, even from across the room. She stopped, arms dropping to her sides. At a distance, distant from him. Since when had that been what he wanted?

"Buff..." The croak shook her out of her jittery thoughts. Painful, you could tell. His shoulders were slumped now, mouth closed. Water. Of course.

She hurried to snatch the cup and fill it, but slowed as she stepped toward the bed. "Listen, I have to come close to give you the cup. I won't touch you, okay?" She shuffled forward, handed him the cup. He didn't flinch when their fingers brushed. That was something, right?

Spike raised the cup to his lips slowly. He gulped its contents down in one long swallow, tongue coming out to wet raw lips. She had been trying not to stare, but as he lowered his cup his eyes seized her. "It's gone," he grated.

Buffy stared, waiting, but that seemed to be it. Okay, Buffy. You can do this. Be all empathetic and understanding. Figure it out. God, this was so much more Willow's department, with the puzzles and all. She'd never been good at reading emotions, certainly not his. Definitely not without a lot of help from his voice. So confusing, he was, all tense like this, posture all straight, head high, but his eyes avoided hers.

God, she was dumb. The water. The water was gone. She stepped forward to take the cup from him. "The water? It's gone?" He shook his head, but handed her the cup without resistance. What was gone? The First? Whatever it was that brought him here? Oh God, maybe…maybe he wanted her to stay away because he was... He didn't believe her, because he didn't want to believe her, because how much would it suck if she was suddenly all in love with him when it was too late, and his love was gone? Like Rhett and Scarlett. What if...

The cup had long since filled, water spilling over the rim and onto her hand. She stared at it numbly. What if... God, of course, because he didn't want her. Didn't want her close. Of course. Of course. Because you never said it, you never said "I love you" at the right time. It was never quite right. But he was thirsty and sick and... She took a deep breath. She was probably just being stupid, and she wouldn't know, not until she asked him. She squared her shoulders and stepped back into the living room.

She could feel her heart jumping in her throat as she gave him the water. She just stared at him as he drank, loomed in front of him, watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Deep breaths, Buffy. Finally, the swallowing was gone and he was looking at her again, just looking. "What's gone, Spike?"

It was harsh, even to her ears, enough to make him flinch. But then he straightened, sat up all determined, eyes locking with hers. "The soul." He coughed, his shoulders straightening defiantly. "'s gone."

Her jaw locked painfully. Just. Too. Much.